


Tennis Racquets & Piano Keys

by mamey2422



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-13 08:21:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19247416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mamey2422/pseuds/mamey2422
Summary: - Rio and Beth teach other their hobbies, starting with Rio giving Beth tennis lessons. Takes place sometime between 2x5 and 2x9Rio played tennis the way he had sex. It was an intense push and pull, taking all of her physical and emotional strength, leaving her body drained. They ended each lesson battling each other, drenched in sweat and adrenaline.





	1. Tennis Racquets

“Son of a bitch,” Beth muttered to herself. She’s racing through the unfamiliar corridors of Huntington Woods Country Club, certain she circled the same hallway twice now. She’d never been here before or any country club for that matter. The high brow environment never interested her, or fit into her budget. But she’s meeting a potential donor for the school’s new art program, determined to seal the deal. Determined to make up for missed mommy duties, imagined or real. The meeting is at the ostentatiously named Gold Room but Beth can’t find it.

“Oh, thank god,” Beth whispered when a man with a tennis backpack entered from a door on the left.

“Excuse me. Can you tell me where the Gold Room is?”

The man turned around to face her. Beth blinked once. Then twice. It took a minute for recognition to set in. Same haircut, same stubble, same edginess to his features. Just in a white collared t-shirt and blue athletic pants instead of his usual uniform of black.

Rio.

“Good morning, Elizabeth.” An easy smile spread across his face.

“What are you doing here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked, pointing toward the racket on his back with a smirk.

“You play tennis? Here?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

No, actually. Rio was a mystery, a chameleon. That’s the only thing she knew for certain about him. So while she’s surprised to run into him, he also fit right in, acted as if he belonged nowhere else. But Beth didn’t have time to calibrate this new information about him. She’d have to process ‘country club Rio’ later.

“Which way is the Gold Room? I’m running so late.”

He nodded to the left. “This way. It’s faster.”

He guided her down a couple of hallways, Beth barely processing where they were going, still in shock at who was leading the way. He finally stopped at a set of French doors in an atrium.

“Right through there.” 

“Thank you.” She wanted to say more, ask a million questions, tell him he should wear white more often, but she’s rushed and this was strange. Like that day at the park when Marcus called him “daddy” and she learned Rio was a father, that he had a whole other life outside of his gang. Once again the kaleidoscope that was Rio turned, changed the pattern of his existence.  It’s too much to take in so she bustled through the door with a quick smile and a goodbye.

Beth left the Gold Room thirty minutes later, her meeting a success, hefty check in hand. Without rushing this time, she noticed the details of the country club. High end décor, state of the art everything. Signs for a full spa, tennis courts, squash, restaurant, a golf course. Small brass plaques of names lined the walls, surely those of members who ponied up plenty of cash for the memento.

She reached the end of the hallway to find Rio sitting in an armchair, one ankle resting on his knee, flipping through a magazine.

“What are you doing here?” Beth asked, confused 

“Didn’t we cover that already?”

“You waited for me?”

“I thought we could play.” He handed her a racket.

What?”

“Come on.” He handed her a white shirt and blue skirt, a female version of his outfit.

“No. I haven’t played in ages.” Beth used to play casually with some of the other mothers in the neighborhood at a local park. But then kids number two, three and four came along. And she never really picked up the game enough to enjoy or excel at it.  

“I’ll teach you the basics.” He handed her a pair of sneakers.

“I’m not a member.”

“You can play as my guest.”  He handed her a visitor pass and a water bottle.

“No thanks.”

“Scared?” His hands finally empty, he clasped them low in front of him, his power stance.

Beth glared at him. He knew how to push her buttons. Her hands were full of all the gear she needed to play and she had no excuses left.

“Fine.”

Rio smiled.

“Locker room is right there. Follow the signs to the court. I’ll meet you outside.”

Rio learned the value of a country club early. Country clubs equaled wealthy people and wealthy often meant powerful. So Rio used the club as a conduit into typically closed off territory. It’s how he met his lawyer, how he stayed connected to the parallel universe of his gang life. Of course he stood out among the old white men who dominated the club, stares and whispers greeted him when he first joined. There weren’t many – any – people waking around with neck tattoos, after all. But money was a universal language and Rio paid for the top tier membership, on time, with extra donations along the way.

Rio immediately took to the game of tennis. The blistering serves cutting through the air with exactness, pounding exchanges from baseline to baseline, short backhands mixed in with perfectly placed rockets to the corners of the court. A furious battle of precision and power, characteristic Rio admired and related to. Tennis was a game of adjustments. Small, imperceptible changes to the angle of the racket, the spin on the ball could throw an opponent off kilter. It was about switching things up so of course Rio thrived at the sport. Flipping his game was what he did best.  Adding Beth into the mix would only make it more interesting.

He smiled as she walked onto the court.

“You look good in tennis gear.” Rio was serious. The short skirt and tank top didn’t hide her curves like the usual PTA attire he saw her in.

Beth rolled her eyes, put her water bottle and towel down on the chair at center court.

“Everything fit okay? I guessed.”

“Fine. Thanks.”

“So let’s start with your grip.” He held up his racket, demonstrating the proper way to hold the racket. “Your grip impacts your serve, your technique, everything.”

Beth mirrored the placement of his fingers.  

“Perfect. Now do you remember how to serve?”

“I’m rusty.”

He walked her through the basics, going through a slow motion serve to show her how to shift her body weight forward then back, start the backswing to build momentum, toss the ball up straight, eyes on the ball the entire time, ending with a powerful follow through.  

“Got it?”

“I think so.”

“Let’s see it.” He stepped aside to give Beth the court.

Beth set herself, bounced the ball a few times to get comfortable, but just as she started to the balls of her feet, Rio interjected.

“No, no, no. Stop.”

“What?”

“You’re stance is off.”

He moved close behind her and tapped each of her legs.

“Your back foot needs to be parallel to the court, your front foot pointed to the right.”

His face and tone were all business, no different than if he were at a money drop. Beth did as instructed, ignoring the humming of her skin from his touch.

“Good. That’s it. Now relax.” His rubbed her shoulders. “You’re as stiff as a board.”

Reflexively, her muscled tightened even more at his touch but she took a deep breath and let her shoulders drop. Beth mentally walked through her serve before executing it. The ball skimmed the top of the net but landed where it should on the opposite court.

“There you go. Now try again.”

With Rio’s guidance Beth served two dozen more times. She prickled at him more than once, his constant adjustments, corrections equally frustrating and encouraging. Eventually he moved to the opposite side of the net, returning her serves, volleying with her. By her final serve, Beth’s arm ached, sweat dripped down her face, and she gave up tucking wayward strands of hair back into her ponytail. Across the court, Rio waited, bent at the waist in classic tennis pose, ready to defend whatever came his way.

She bounced the ball a few times before exploding the ball down the center of the court, staying inside the white line as it whistled by Rio’s lunge. A rush of excitement flowed through her body at her first ace.

“Yes!” Beth raised her arms in triumph, shook her hips in a little celebratory dance.

“Not bad.” Rio beamed at her, pride obvious from across the court. He met her at the net and shook her hand in proper tennis etiquette. “Good game, partner.”

“Thank you.” Beth smiled, gulped water from the battle Rio handed her.

Rio matched her stride as they walked to the locker rooms.

“Same time Thursday?”

“What?”

“Practice makes perfect, right?”

Beth hesitated. She had a lot of fun and using her body athletically for the first time in forever was exhilarating. But there’s the vague part of her that simply wanted to be around Rio. To get to know the man who carried a tennis racquet and gun with equal ease.

“Sure.”

So twice a week, Rio gave Beth tennis lessons. Her footwork was a mess, her backhand was weak, her forehand was decent. Most importantly she was determined. She got the ball over the net more often through pure willpower rather than skill. Every lesson was harder than the last. Rio was a tough coach, every mistake dissected. Sometimes in earnest, serious tones. Sometimes joking and sarcastic.  

_“Don’t let me dictate the pace."_

_"Stop hesitating.”_

_“Keep your arm straight.”_

_"_ _Straighter.”_

_“Are you hitting the ball or is it hitting you?_

_"Hit the ball hard.”_

_“Harder.”  
_

_“Just hit the ball.”_

Beth was a fast learner and her level of play improved after each hour together.

Rio was just as liberal with his praise as his criticism. She knew the respect she saw in his expression as she got better wasn’t her imagination. It motivated her and she relished it every time, just as much was winning a point.  

Their connection extended onto the tennis court seamlessly, a familiar intimacy between them. There was the physical closeness, of course. Rio molding her body into the correct positions.

“Like this,” he would say, his eyes not leaving hers, his fingers lingering longer than needed.

Or like when Rio grunted after a hard shot, Beth remembered him making the same quiet sound in the gritty bar bathroom, his lips buried in her neck, his weight between her legs. Rio played tennis the way he had sex. It was an intense push and pull, taking all of her physical and emotional strength, leaving her body drained. They ended each lesson battling each other, drenched in sweat and adrenaline.

During one contentious match, Rio called a ball out.  

“Bullshit!” Beth shouted.

“Out.”

“No way. That was in.”

“Out,” Rio repeated patiently. “Look at the chalk mark.”

Beth walked over to the line in question and confirmed it was clean.

“Fine,” Beth shrugged, walking back to her side of the court.

“Do you fight everyone like this or am I the only luck one?”

It was just him. No one ever made Beth feel the way he did. The truth was she never felt more alive than when she was with Rio. Whether it was laundering money, meeting for a drop or playing tennis, he stoked her competitive fire. Pushed her to do more, better. To be herself.  This was about more than tennis. It was about being challenged, respected. Everything Rio offered her. Always, unconditionally.

“30-Love,” Beth said, before hurtling another ace over the net.


	2. Piano Keys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beth gives Rio an unexpected piano lesson. Takes place sometime between 2x5 and 2x9.   
> "Here she was, inviting herself into his space, welcoming him into hers. Hip to hip, arm to arm on the small piano bench. And she was smiling at him. A rare event. Rio wanted to draw it out a little longer."

Beth was conspicuously missing from the tennis court at their usual lesson time. She usually beat Rio to the court, preferring to get extra warm up time in whenever she could. When Rio didn’t see a message from her on his phone, he sent a quick text that he was waiting and went looking for her. 

He didn’t get far before deep, feathery music swept through the hallway, distracted him. The country club had a baby grand piano in an atrium room but it was rarely used. Most members preferred to spend their time at the bar or outdoor patio. Rio peeked around the doorway, curious to see the source. The room was dark, a few wall sconces and over head skylight surrounded the piano in a soft spotlight. What he saw made his breath catch, his chest tighten. Beth sitting at the piano. Her back was to him but he immediately recognized her shape, features, energy. She swayed lightly as she played, her hair catching shadows and light as she moved. Rio didn’t know anything about piano or classical music but he was immediately caught up in the rich, sad notes. She was playing from memory, eyes closed, no sheet music in front of her. The melody flowed from her with ease. Music filled the room, surrounded them.

Beth was so lost in the moment that she didn’t notice him walk toward her. He waited for her to stop before speaking.

“Didn’t know you were a Mozart.”

Rio spoke quietly, but Beth still whirled around, startled at the unexpected audience.

“Hardly,” Beth blushed, hastily looked at her watch. “Sorry. I lost track of time.”

Beth never noticed the piano in all the times she ‘d been to the country club. Too focused on her tennis lessons – and beating Rio – to pay attention to anything else. She hadn’t played in years but when she saw the piano on her way to the locker room she was drawn to it. Memories chased each other at the edges of her mind as she smoothed her hand over the shiny black surface, sat on the bench. Her piano lessons coincided with one of the rougher patches of her childhood. When her mom become more unavailable, her dad checked out even more.

Her fascination with piano started with Elton John and daydreams of playing just like him, colorful outfits and all. Beth initially hesitated about starting lessons, not because she was indecisive like Annie liked to believe, but because she knew it would mean spending money her parents didn’t have. Annie never saw or understood that. Everything seemed so black and white to her because Beth made it that way for her, made it easy. Beth followed the rules, pinched pennies, did all the worrying so Annie didn’t have to. But Beth’s grandmother insisted, having a musical side herself as a member of her church choir, and offered to help pay for both the lessons and a piano. Beth gratefully accepted.

As a young girl, the piano was a magnificent thing to Beth. Enchanting keys, the contrast of black and white, and the sounds she could make from just her fingers. It didn’t come naturally, she had to work at it, but she found a release at the piano, the music bubbling up from inside her out onto the keys. She liked looking at a sheet of music and knowing how it was going to sound. Life was messy, but music was certain, calming, beautiful.

“Sounds like those piano lessons paid off.” Rio said with a small smile.

Rio remembered the contentious afternoon in Beth’s kitchen, when she wanted to back out of washing money after Agent Turner spooked her. Annie gave Beth a hard time about backtracking, dredging up a three thousand dollar baby upright from their childhood. Rio didn’t know a lot about Annie but he could tell she was a handful. From what he’d seen of them together, the side eyes and annoyed tones, Beth dealt with a lot when it came to her sister. Beth was the responsible, resourceful one. Annie was the wildcard. In his line of work, Rio didn’t keep a lot of Annies around.  

Beth paused and swallowed, surprised at the tears fighting the edges of her eyes, unexpectedly mourning a childhood she never really had. How had her life ended up like this? A cheating husband, broke, money laundering. Where had everything gone so wrong? But she didn’t cry. She took a deep breath and turned to Rio.

“Why don’t you try?”

“No. I don’t play.”

“Just a quick scale.” Beth insisted to distract herself. “Here, let me show you.”

Without waiting for his agreement, she slid off the bench and pulled Rio down onto it to take her place. Before he could object, she was adjusting his back, nudging him forward, giving his shoulders a squeeze.

“First, you have to be at the edge of the bench. No slumping. No hunching. Relax your shoulders”

Rio scooted forward, sat up straight. Beth’s intense focus on him was disarming and adorable. The gentleness of her touch, the softness of her big blue eyes stood in contrast to the rigid firmness he usually saw from her.

“Good. Keep your elbows in front of you.” Still from behind, Beth used her pointer fingers to push his elbows forward, leaned over his shoulder to adjust their placement. They were close. Close enough for her to see the speckles of light brown that broke up the dark pool of his eyes. Close enough for her entire body to heat from head to toe. Beth cleared her throat. “They shouldn’t be by your side or sticking out.”

“Perfect. Now finger placement.” Beth continued, sitting down next to Rio to demonstrate. Her fingers moved over his, guided his thumb to the middle C, the others to the left and right. “You want to keep your thumbs flat but arch the rest of your fingers. You play piano with the tips of your fingers. Like this,” she said, tapping his palms from underneath so his hands curved up.

Rio watched Beth instead of his hands, hypnotized by her touch. Beth always kept her distance from him, an invisible shield surrounding her at all times. With one memorable exception. Ever since that night in the bar bathroom he imagined what it would be like to touch her again. He stole his moments when he could. A brush of a hand, leaning in an inch more than necessary or appropriate. But here she was, inviting herself into his space, welcoming him into hers. Hip to hip, arm to arm on the small piano bench. And she was smiling at him. A rare event. Rio wanted to draw it out a little longer.

His eyes latched onto hers, studied her, wondering if he was imagining the flare of excitement in her expression. If she could be as turned on as he was from a simple piano lesson. He leaned into her until their mouths were only a breath apart.

Beth’s heart bumped once, twice hard against her chest. Rio had such a strong face, Beth thought – strong angles, firm mouth, deep eyes. Only now did she notice her hand rested entirely on top of his. His tan and strong, hers pale and delicate. Pressure built in her chest, spread to her stomach as they sat there.

“We should get to the tennis court.” She finally said, her throat dry, but she couldn’t order herself to move.

“Yeah,” Rio replied, not budging.  

“We’ll lose our court time.”

“Wouldn’t want that.”

“Ready?”

For tennis? Sure. For this thing pulsing between them? Rio wasn’t entirely sure. But this wasn’t the time or place to entertain the steamy thoughts racing through his mind. Rio finally shifted, broke the spell. Giving in to the urge he brushed her hair away from her face.

“Sure. Wouldn’t want to be better than you at piano _and_ tennis.”

He said it with his usual cocky grin and confidence. The combination that Beth hated to love.


End file.
